


Wardrobe Practicality

by blehgah



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard ponders the reasons why Miranda always wears gloves. Vague mention of Miranda's Shadow Broker dossier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wardrobe Practicality

You're a vanguard. You've dealt with biotics training since you were a kid, and while you can't recall it ever being as bad as Alenko's case had been, you don't think you've ever had a need for special equipment aside from your amp.

After seeing Jacob, you figure Cerberus just likes to give their especially aesthetically pleasing members skin-tight outfits. Or maybe it really _is_ the whole biotics thing. Shit, he has gloves on his suit too, doesn't he? Why doesn't anyone on the ship know what goddamn fatigues are?

"I don't know, Shepard, I don't really think I'm the best person to ask."

With a sigh, you realize that your companion does kind of have a point. From your position on some boxes in the corner of the battery, you watch as Garrus meddles with the control panel some more.

"I don't really find much purpose in wearing something other than my armor when we're off-planet," he continues, "We have to be prepared for anything. Gloves help in combat situations. You wear them on the field, too."

"Yeah," you concede, "Both guns and biotics run hot. But _still_. It's gotta be at least a little annoying to operate everything on the ship with gloves on."

"You learn to adapt. And as far as I know, Lawson's very good at adapting."

"Apparently."

You sigh again, leaning your head back against the wall.

"Come on, Shepard." Garrus turns around and leans his elbow against the surface of the gun controls; the lack of light reflecting from his armor indicates that it's in sleep mode. "How long have you been harboring this crush again? It must have been before you came and picked me up, considering you were giving her googly eyes even when getting fired at by a bunch of idiot mercs on Omega."

"Vakarian, I swear to god, the scope on that gun's supposed to be used for _aiming_ , not spying," you retort, though there's not as much venom in your tone as you'd like.

Garrus chuckles. "If the suit's that distracting - especially on the field - maybe you ought to, oh I don't know, _talk to her about it_?"

He does have a point. You'd known the conversation was going to go this way no matter what, and now you have to stop avoiding it.

"I don't know, Garrus. Remember the Shadow Broker files?"

It's hard to tell considering the hulking suit of armor, but you swear Garrus deflates a little.

"Shepard, only you and Liara have access to those."

"Right." Forgot about that. You tap your lip with your index finger. "Still, point is-- she was looking for... I don't know. Family, I guess. Sure, we saved her sister, but Oriana has her own life outside of Miranda's immediate attention. And look at me. I'm not exactly family material, am I?"

With a sigh of his own, Garrus gives a shallow nod. "While I don't claim to be an expert on human culture, I'm going to assume this is something more than the fact that you literally need a male and a female to reproduce and you are definitely not male."

You nod.

Garrus throws up his hands. "She's hardly family material herself. It's just a fantasy, Shepard. Maybe she just needs something new to dream about."

A wry smile curls your lips. "That was oddly inspirational coming from you, Garrus."

He shrugs. "What can I say, I've got a way with words. Now you better figure out your own way with words and _go talk to her_ , I've got more calibrations to do."

Once you're on your feet, you head straight for your companion's side. Then you flick his headset, knocking it askew.

"I'm gonna tear you away from this station someday, Vakarian," you threaten.

As you're walking away, you hear Garrus' response over the sound of the doors opening: "And when you do, we're going to be attacked by the Collectors and we'll be screwed, and you'll only have yourself to blame."

* * *

"Commander Shepard," Miranda greets you as you walk in, "Is there something wrong?"

Her voice is smooth as silk, decorated intricately with her accent. You swallow. See, this is why you don't go and talk to her. She makes you sweat way more than an idiot batarian holding an assault rifle three feet away from your face ever could.

"Nothing dire," you offer hesitantly.

Miranda lifts a brow. "Coming from you, Shepard, that's hardly comforting."

"It's just something minor that's been bothering me," you continue, finding a seat in front of her desk. She comes forward, putting her elbows in front of her and leaning her chin into her folded hands.

"Right. It's something 'minor', and yet you've been here for three minutes already without actually _saying_ anything about it. I'm starting to believe this is a more sensitive matter than you're letting on--"

"Your gloves," you blurt out.

Miranda blinks, long eyelashes fluttering against her damningly sharp cheekbones.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your gloves," you insist, gesturing towards them with your hands, "You're always wearing them."

Miranda's brow furrows. "Yes? They're attached to my suit. Rather difficult to put them back on once you've taken them off, actually."

You can feel your eyes bug out of your head. "You can take them _off_?"

The expression on Miranda's face smooths out to an amused one as she extends an arm. With her other hand, she indicates a point in the middle of her forearm.

"There's a very small zipper here. It's difficult to find and pull, and we're in combat so often there's no point in me taking them off while we're off-planet." Settling her hands back on her desk, she risks a smile. "And this has been bothering you for some time now?"

Blood starts to gather in your cheeks. You lick your lips. "Uh. I mean. Kind of."

You're sure she's got very talented hands. That's the part you're meant to say out loud. Your throat works, but nothing comes out.

"Shepard. If you have a problem with me - or any aspect of me, including my suit - then you should talk to me about it. I can't imagine you'll do well on the mission if the issue of whether or not my suit's gloves are detachable is distracting you."

The flush in your cheeks grows brighter. Your brain is telling you to get up and leave, but the smile on her face is much too compelling to ignore.

"I don't... I don't have a problem with you. At all. I thought I've made that clear, despite my feelings about Cerberus and the Illusive Man," you say, fighting to find some confidence in your voice, "No problems at all. You might even say... That I have the opposite of that. Of a problem. With you."

Leaning back in her seat, Miranda puts her hands in her lap. "I'm not quite sure what you're trying to say, Shepard." She pauses and shakes her head. "Or rather, I think I do understand what you're trying to say, but I'm not certain I believe it."

"Why not?"

With a slight frown, Miranda pulls at the collar of her suit. "I... I know my genetics have given me what most people consider an attractive appearance, but I never thought that..." She lowers her head. "It's... not a common occurrence for someone to maintain interest once they've actually... talked to me. People don't usually see me as a person to connect with. But you--" She lifts her head and pierces you with her steely stare. "You hardly seem like the type to half-ass anything. For you to express interest in me... It can't just be for my body. And if it is, I think I'd have to reevaluate your stature as a leader. As a person."

"Of course it's not just for your body-- Though that's not to say that-- Fucking hell." Groaning, you rub your face with your hands. "You... There's something... Incredibly compelling about you. Your confidence, your abilities, your intelligence... Your body." You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second. You briefly contemplate the stars on the back of your eyelids before regarding Miranda with a slight frown. "You give all the credit to your father, to your genetics, but you're more than that. You may have had a very carefully constructed biological make-up, but it takes a very competent person to put all of that to good use."

A moment of silence passes. Miranda pulls at her collar again.

"I'm... I'm flattered, Shepard. But... But this is hardly the time for... This." She stands and walks further into her office. "I understand now-- why you've been so hesitant. At first I thought it was uncharacteristic of you, but..."

Scrambling to your feet, you follow after her. As you stand at the foot of her bed, you can't bring yourself to close the distance further.

She turns to face you. Her brow is furrowed yet again, hands wrung together at her waist. "Despite your success--"

"Our success," you interject. She allows herself a brief smile.

"Yes. Of course. Our success," she agrees, "You and I both know that the chances of us coming out of this alive are substantially low."

"Don't you think that makes this an ideal time to embrace this? We might not have another chance for this. For us."

Somehow, you manage to pull enough energy from the pit of your stomach to take a few steps closer to Miranda. To think some stupid remark about her gloves got you here. Damn you, Garrus, for encouraging your stupid shit.

Her eyes flit to the window. She turns towards it, putting a few fingertips on the sill. "I don't... I need to think about this, Shepard."

Your heart stops in your chest. "So-- You'll give me a chance? Really?"

While Miranda doesn't move to face you, she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and you can imagine the face she must be making. Slightly annoyed, lips curled downward, ready to roll her eyes. "Don't act so shocked. Everyone in the galaxy wants you, Shepard. Don't think I'm so different."

It takes you a few moments to find your breath and beat it back into your lungs. Gotta check with EDI to make sure she's regulating the ship's environment conditions properly. But when you're sure you won't pass out due to lack of oxygen, you take one last deep breath and make a break for it, extending your reach to gather Miranda in a hug.

Her suit is smooth to the touch, broken up by the bumpy texture. You wonder if that's entirely for practical or aesthetic purposes. You can admit that while you are a biotic, you know almost nothing about the science of it aside from the fact that you can blow stuff up and you need to eat a lot.

Cautiously, hesitantly, Miranda turns in your grip and slides her hands up the front of your fatigues. Her touch carefully avoids pressure on your sensitive parts before settling in the closure of your collar.

"Don't push it, Shepard," she warns. There's tension in her core, you can feel it against your own, as if she's readying herself to move at any moment. It contradicts the tight grip she has on your shirt.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't test my limits, Miss Lawson," you retort. Your breathlessness renders your response a little too sincere and she smiles.

"You're incorrigible." She ducks her head and her nose brushes your shoulder.

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

You listen to the sound of her breathing, of her heart rate, as she slowly releases you from her grip. It's a much more organic melody than she implies with her constant chorus of "the best money can buy".

The glide of her gloved hands down the insides of your arms makes you shiver.

"I have work to do, and I know you do as well, Commander," she murmurs, head still bowed, "I'll let you know... When I'm ready to talk to you."

"A-Alright," you reply, your mind too scrambled to curse the way your tone falters, "I'll be waiting, then."

"Good things come to those who wait," she says with a teasing smile.

It takes the rest of your energy not to watch her retreating backside. Instead, you focus on keeping your gait steady as you exit the room as calmly as you can.


End file.
